


Ice, Stone and Snow

by LadyHallen



Series: An Avalanche and it's snowy friends [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-06
Updated: 2016-03-06
Packaged: 2019-11-12 18:07:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18015758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyHallen/pseuds/LadyHallen
Summary: What came before An Avalanche? The moments that were cherished and loved that in turn became cornerstones in Heathers life.





	1. Chapter 1

Everything honestly started with National Geographic.

It was a Sunday and everything was so slow. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia was on the sofa, exploiting the chocolate and cold wine, and  _really_  too lazy to bother with ordering Heather around. Even Dudley couldn't be bothered to do more than glare at her due to the hot and lazy atmosphere.

The television was left running and surprisingly, was stuck on National Geographic Channel. Nobody wanted to exert energy to change the channel and the man's smooth voice only added to the sleepy haze.

The program was all about turtles and Heather watched, completely transfixed, as the predators bypassed the turtle due to its hard shell. Normally, one would think that the turtles shell was exemplary but Heather was different. She realized something else. She realized that the creatures were making themselves small enough that the predators deemed them insignificant.

 _I can do that too,_  Heather thought, her seven year old mind spinning and thinking quickly.  _I can make myself insignificant enough, small enough to be unnoticed._

Magic, as always answered.

Heather had, up until then, been a timid and shy girl. Aunt Petunia liked ordering her around seeing as she didn't make a peep of complaint. Uncle Vernon only gave her the attention one would give to a pet your child begged to have yet you didn't particularly like or hate. Dudley was the only one to give her his complete attention and it wasn't the nice sort.

It was bewildering for the bullying cousin to be incapable of finding Heather in school (the only place he could physically show her his displeasure of having her as a cousin.).

Unless a person was especially perceptive or Heather wanted it to, a person would not notice her. Heather had gained the presence of an inanimate, harmless object.

.

.

But that harmlessness was blasted and cleaned and  _taken away_  in the wizarding world, because everybody wanted to see her, everybody wanted to touch her. It was unnerving and Heather couldn't understand it. She hated it.


	2. How Not to Make Enemies

Heather had dealt with bullies most of her life so she had resolved to never bully someone. Poking fun at someone was fine, yes. But there was a fine line between having fun and bullying (and there are really sad people who find fun in bullying).

What Lavander and Parvati were doing was bullying, even if they probably never meant it. They didn't seem the type to do so intentionally, anyway, so Heather forgave them, just that once.

"U-uhm, e-excuse me," Heather stuttered out softly. "T-that's not very nice."

The two girls turned to her at the same time, curiosity, annoyance and awe fighting dominance over them. It eventually settled on curiousity and annoyance. Heather wasn't really too impressive to keep the awe.

"What is it, Potter?" Lavander asked.

Heather managed not to cringe. "I-if you don't like Hermione's methods or certain bits of her, you can always tell her," she said. Her voice was surprisingly firm, but Heather was serious about this one. Hermione was the first person she'd had a proper conversation with in  _three_   _years._

"D-don't tell other people about it," she continued. "Hermione doesn't hear about it  _nicely_  that way. Say it to her face."

Both girls were quiet. Their eyes were wide.

"But…that," Parvati tried to say.

"Don't tell me you're afraid to help Hermione, who's never been told about what she's doing wrong," Heather said, unconsciously slipping into a taunting tone.  _Don't tell me you're afraid,_  was the silent message.

Before Lavander and Parvati could react negatively to that – because really, nobody likes to hear that, especially a Gryffindor – Heather's shyness cropped up again. A blush rose on her cheeks and she looked up through her bangs shyly. "U-unless," she said, reverting back to her soft voice. "Unless it's personal? I-I'm sorry."

It was so  _charming_. Like a pet Chihuahua that tried to stand up to a bulldog, knowing it would lose just by the sheer size difference, but trying it anyway. Trying for the sake of the first friend she'd ever had (and if not a friend yet, then someone who needed friendship just as badly as she did.)

"Wait, Potter," Lavander said before Heather could do more than shuffle back a few steps. "Don't run away now."

They grabbed her hands and shoved her bodily into the sofa between them. Heather gave a startled squeak and tried to go smaller. Fervently, she wished to be inconspicuous again because she truly hadn't had this much attention in  _ages._

* * *

Hermione was in the library and found herself ambushed by Lavander and Parvati. Heather Potter, who was really so bloody famous and it just didn't suit the shy little feather-girl in the train that she met, hovered back a couple of steps. She looked like she didn't want to be there at all.

"What do you want?" Hermione asked warily. She'd recognized the two girls as potential bullies the previous day.

"Heather here just taught us the error of our ways," Lavander said, eyes alighting in remembered mirth. "And Parvati and I discussed it. We figured that it would be really – and we mean this nicely – really difficult to teach you to make friends."

That stung. A quick glance at Heather showed the girl to be cringing and Hermione found that she couldn't even detect an iota of malice in her.

"We decided to teach you how not to make more enemies," Parvati finished with a relish.


	3. First Year

**Robe Fittings and Draco Malfoy**

The door to Madame Malkins shop struck against the chimes and alerted the proprietess of the new customer.

Heather hid behind Hagrids giant bulk when Madame Malkin and a boy being fitted turned at the same time to the door. She really liked Hagrid, his sheer size made hiding so easy.

"Oh, Reubeus!" Madame Malkin cried cheerfully. "What brings you to my store?"

"Ah! Got young 'Eather 'ere for 'er robes." The half-giant twisted around. "C'mon, now. Don' be shy." He pushed Heather gently towards the seamstress.

To her credit, Madame Malkin only goggled for a second before a warmer expression crossed her face. "Heather, yes?" she asked.

Heather nodded quickly.

"Just wait awhile, dear and I'll tend to you," she said.

Business like, she turned back to her blonde customer and professionally went back to work. She didn't even turn to peek once at Heather, though the tilt in her head indicated eavesdropping. Heather should know since she did that a lot.

The blonde boy, however, still eyed her curiously. And he was obviously unimpressed.

"Are you really Heather Potter?" he drawled out.

Heather nodded again. "Y-yes," she said to the ground softly.

He scoffed. "You defeated the Dark Lord? By Morgana, you look like a mouse!"

None of it was untrue, so Heather said nothing. The seamstress, however, wasn't so passive. She  _accidentally_  stuck a pin at the wrong angle, causing the boy to yelp.

"You shouldn't move around too much in a fitting, dear," she apologized sincerely.

The boy only scoffed after rubbing the abused arm. He turned his attention back to Heather and caught a flash of green behind her long bangs. It vanished quickly when she went back to looking at the floor.

"You're really quite mousy," he remarked. "I'll just call you Mouse, instead. It suits you better."

There was a flash of silver and another yelp.

Later that day, the boy known as Draco Malfoy was heard complaining quite loudly to his mother about how Madame Malkin was losing her touch since she'd stuck quite a number of pins at him.

Heather just smiled a small smile and gave the woman a quick hug. The end result of that had both of them quite red, Heather in embarrassment and Madame Malkin…well, really, she was the Girl-Who-Lived!

* * *

**A Platform to find and the Weasley Family**

Hagrid had just vanished on her.

Hmm, the statement had already been thought of, but it somehow bore repeating. Heather was just that shocked.

On a side note, he had forgotten to tell her how to get to the platform.

Heather sniffled for a bit before forcing herself to soldier on. 9 and 3/4. How hard was that to find? Wizards!

She wandered for a bit, her luggage making her move slowly. Somehow, she knew that it was between platforms nine and ten. So she stayed put between both platforms and watched the traffic. Nobody was watching her so she allowed herself to relax for a bit.

But the train was almost leaving and nothing magical had happened yet. Heather had almost allowed herself to panic when she saw them.

Redheads. A family of redheads.

It was such a pretty color, she mused. Then one of them vanished and she had to blink and rub her eyes. No, she wasn't dreaming. They really were a family member short.

Were they magical? Inching closer, she eavesdropped.

"We're already running late," the redhead mother was saying. "I don't need you two to mess it up for your brother."

The two she was scolding, identical twins, rolled their eyes and vanished through the wall after running at it.

Well, no doubt. They were wizards.

"E-excuse me?" she asked softly. "H-how do you get to the platform?"

The one who remained was the mother, a young boy and an even younger girl. The woman looked startled for a moment before explaining succinctly how to go through.

"Are you a muggleborn?" the young girl asked.

"U-um," Heather stuttered, wondering how to answer that.

Luckily, the woman stopped that line of questioning. "Ginny! Don't ask that! Now, go on, dear. The train's about to leave."

The run helped a bit, though it didn't help her anxiety. She arrived into the platform and immediately searched for help. The train was almost leaving, the woman had said a couple of times. The time to marvel was  _later._

She found help quickly when the ones with shiny badges caught sight of her hovering uncertainly.

"May I help you?" he asked. He was a redhead too and seemed quite pompous. Distantly, she wondered if he was in any way related to the kind woman who helped her get to the platform.

"A compartment?" she asked instead. "U-um, somewhere quiet."

The prefect took her at her word and she was taken to a compartment at the very back. No one should have bothered her for the entire trip, that is, until Trevor the Toad escaped.

* * *

**Feathers, Hermione Granger and Neville Longbottom**

Heather was too nervous to sleep, so when the door to the compartment slid open, she gave a squeak that could have been construed as  _Help!_  The girl with the bushy hair, who was responsible for opening the door, stuck her head in.

Reflexively, Heather shrunk in her seat and tried to be one with the chair. It didn't work.

"Have you seen a toad anywhere?" she asked.

Heather gave a miniscule shake of her head. "No," she whispered. "I'm sorry."

She gave this in the smallest voice possible, hoping the girl would leave. Instead, she entered the compartment and sat down opposite her. She hunched even lower in her seat. It was an instinct.

"My name's Hermione, what's yours?" the girl asked in a very friendly way.

A possible friend? Heather looked up hesitantly. Well, she was nice. "H-heather."

Annoyance crossed Hermione's face. "Excuse me, your name is Feather? What parent would name their child that? Have they no pity? Well, I can't exactly talk, can I since my parents named me after a play."

Then she sat across Heather and went on talking. Heather tentatively listened and interrupted at the right moment just to explain that, no, her name is Heather. H-E-A-T-H-E-R. Not feather. It was as awkward as anything.

However, it was inevitable that both searchers of the missing toad would end up looking at the same place, the train wasn't that big, and that place was in Heathers compartment. Neville Longbottom's arrival broke the awkward atmosphere and at the same time, made it worse.

Because if there ever was a person shyer than Heather, it was Neville.

Hermione looked at both of them with increasing exasperation when they only managed to exchange stuttered hello's. Anything more was beyond them.

* * *

**Dinners and Ron Weasley**

The Sorting ended and the Gryffindors sneaked glances at the resident celebrity while waiting for Professor Dumbledore's speech to finish. Ron Weasley, however, was not quite so tactful.

"Are you really Heather Potter?" he asked rudely and tactlessly, with only curiosity and no malice. "Can you show me the scar?"

There was a sudden bout of coughing in the immediate vicinity as those eavesdropping found themselves curious, appalled and surprised all at the same time.

Obligingly, Heather lifted the bangs hiding the lightning bolt scar and Ron gave the appropriate look of awe.

"Wicked," he grinned. "Do you remember any bit of…" a pause and an exaggerated look around. "You-Know-Who?" he asked.

This time, there was no curiosity in the audience, only incredulity.  _How could he ask that?_

Hermione flew to the suddenly frozen Heathers defense. "You rude, uncouth arse!" she cried. "He murdered her parents. You don't ask that!"

Heather had shrunk into her seat, feeling rather bewildered and hurt at the same time. She also did not understand  _why_  she was so angry with the tactless boy all of a sudden. She rarely felt anger in her short life and only mostly at her cousin Dudley.

Glancing to the side while Ron was being scolded by a pair of twins and the redheaded prefect, she caught Hermione's eye and it was the work of a moment to convey the intention to  _avoid_ the boy  _at all costs._

* * *

**Air-headedness and Blaise Zabini**

The puzzle of Fluffy the Three-headed dog and Quirell's inconsistent stutter (as pointed out by the ever perceptive Hermione – since she had a person to compare stutters to, Heather's speech impediment was the genuine thing) had Heather in a daze. Her mind was going in so many circles that it made her a bit air-headed.

Which led to her situation: bumping into an unknown, possibly hostile Slytherin.

"I'm sorry!" she cried, hands coming up to rub at her sore head, which had banged into his collarbone.

"It's alright," he answered, voice already low despite being quite young.

Heather glanced up through her bangs (it really needed cutting, it was so long) and saw exotic eyes set in a beautiful face. She was too young and inexperienced to really understand the more intense flutter happening in her chest.

"You're Potter, aren't you?" he asked when she remained silent. "Heather Potter?"

Regaining her senses, Heather nodded quickly. "Y-yes," her stutter returning after a few weeks of absence, with the bravery of only talking to the girls in her dorm.

"You ought to be more careful next time, Potter. Not all Slytherins are nice," he continued.

"Are you nice?" she blurted out and then clapping her hands over her mouth in mortification.

He smirked. "That's up to you, Potter," he drawled.

If there ever was anyone brilliant at non-answers, it would be Hermione. Blaise had  _nothing_  on that bushy-haired girl so Heather noticed that he didn't answer her.

"Call me Heather," she said instead of calling him on it.

No Slytherin would ever really admit to being nice. It was, after all, viewed as a weakness.


	4. 2nd Year

Heather heard the snake first because she was listening for it. Hermione, two steps ahead of her, was more concerned about looking into reflexive surfaces. Another half-step to the right was a girl, a Ravenclaw older than both of them.

Some half-forgotten recklessness awoke in Heather as she was forced between a dead friend and an honest-to-goodness basilisk.

"Duck!" she screeched, eyes closed. "Both of you, close your eyes!"

Startled, Hermione and the Ravenclaw girl obeyed and it prevented their petrification.

"Heather, what?" Hermione demanded in a rough whisper.

The Ravenclaw made a stifled sound of agreement. She wanted answers too.

Placed on the spotlight like that, Heather nearly cringed. "I-I heard it move past us. It was very close," she stammered. "I-I'm sorry for shouting."

Hermione huffed a laugh, though it sounded wobbly.

Heather ended up having to tackle both girls to the ground when the sound of scales rasping on the stones shifted closer.

Human footsteps made all three of them tense, until they head McGonagall's voice. "What on earth happened to the three of you girls?" she demanded. Her Scottish brogue was particularly prominent in that moment.

Heather finally opened her eyes. "Oh, professor," she exclaimed softly, her voice shaky with relief.

Hermione continued with, "You wouldn't believe what just happened."

The Ravenclaw girl was patting her hair down. "Bloody buggering hell!" she exclaimed.


	5. Through Draco's Eyes

Draco doesn't have Granger's memory.

Even so, he can still remember the first time he met a small mouse, who the half-blood oaf introduced as Heather Potter.

He remembered being so bloody incredulous.

Madame Malkin kept pricking him that day too, which was probably why it lodged itself in his mind so firmly. In hindsight, he really was a rude little bugger back then, which was a very plausible reason why he kept getting pricked.

The one person who did register in his radar was Granger and Weasley, but only because anybody compared to Potter was brave. (It still  _shocked_  him that she was sorted in Gryffindor.) Between Longbottom and Potter, it had been a competition on crippling shyness. Watching the two of them talk was like watching a horse accident in slow motion.

He didn't notice her slowly emerge from her shell with the gentle coaxing of Lovegood in second year. He had been too busy arguing with Blaise back then. Regarding what, he really couldn't remember. Just something to do with his stupid father. He did remember being so bloody surprised when the news about the small Potter mouse defeating a  _Basilisk_  of all things.

It was third year when she truly showed the formidable will hidden behind the cringing personality. It was when she had tackled him for calling Granger a mudblood, providing time for Granger to cast him in a body-bind and  _lecture_  him. The gall of it, though he had laughed at it afterwards.

Something had happened by the end of third year. Amidst the rumors flying around about Potter repelling a hundred dementors, Blaise had drawn his attention to how utterly  _wrecked_  Potter looked. Something that was obvious to the ones looking. Whatever it was, it had broken Potter.

The entirety of fourth year was to him, a complete and utter farce.

Potter had broken the rules again when he thought Weasley would have been the one to do it. She'd joined the Tri-Wizard Tournament, becoming the fourth competitor, even if the title of it was  _Tri-Wizard_  for a reason.

He didn't really notice much since he'd been busy sulking most of the time, the bloody immature brat that he had been, but he did remember how pissed off Blaise was at those times and how Potter had looked like a walking corpse.

She'd only smiled sincerely during the Yule Ball, dancing with Blaise. Then again, that's probably what sealed his best friend's fate.

When Potter had come back with Diggory's corpse, it had signaled the end of everything. Things had  _changed_  back then. Everything was booby-trapped. Even walking into the Slytherin common room had become akin to walking into a political  _minefield_.

Fifth year didn't have anything bear mentioning. Well, other than his good for nothing,  _complete arse_ of a father arrested for being caught red-handed wearing the Dark Lord's mark.

The end of fifth year, he remembered vividly.

That was the time his arm got branded and he felt like a cattle, which was unbelievably appropriate seeing as his mother's life was on the line if he refused the mark.

Sixth year...Draco made it a daily exercise to forget that nightmare of a school year. Sadly, his memory really was a few yards lesser than Granger's. It took  _great effort_  to forget something and absolutely nothing at all to remember.

He probably knew a lot more about magical object displacement theory than anybody else in order to repair the Vanishing Cabinets.

He'd wallowed in his guilt when his godfather had listed the casualties. It was either that, or get pissed off at everything.

Then, Blaise became the first casualty of the war, after Diggory, being taken from his notoriously neutral mother. He'd killed himself by biting his tongue in the aftermath of a  _crucio_ , unwilling to betray his friendship with Potter.

Draco didn't know, or he probably wasn't willing to remember, but it was around picking the flowers for the funeral and watching them lower Blaise's casket that he contemplated switching sides.

Oh, he had toyed with the idea, but it was nothing , watching his own best friend's casket being slowly covered in dirt, was serious.

His father had gripped his arm then as though he knew what Draco was thinking.

Bloody arse really didn't.

Draco didn't bother returning to Hogwarts in his seventh year. Going to school, studying to take his N.E.W.T.S. seemed like a bloody joke compared to the Dark Lord camping out in his second guest bedroom, doling out  _crucio's_  like it was candy on Halloween.

Contemplation had turned to action when Potter got caught. Granger had been screaming while Aunt Bella cut her up, but Potter had turned to him then, eyes shining with un-shed tears, hands trembling as she banged on the metal of her cage desperately.

"Draco," she had whispered, voice hoarse with screaming. "Draco, cousin.  _Please."_

Later, when he had broken both of them out and taken them to the safehouse he had created in his third year, he'd think it had been the way she'd said  _please_  or perhaps the way she'd just said cousin. She'd said it like a lifeline.

He looked at her after the war as well. Potter had not claimed him as family when he was well-off and important to the Minister. She'd claimed him when he was poorer and people would have rather stoned him than shake his hand.

Perhaps that was why he'd followed her when she'd held his hand in Diagon Alley.

He doesn't really know. Only that he'd follow her to the ends of the earth.


End file.
